


5 + 1 times Andy has to rush to hospital

by DrunkGerbil



Series: The Clarkson-Hammonds [4]
Category: The Grand Tour (TV) RPF, Top Gear (UK) RPF
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Angst, Angst and Humor, Angst with a Happy Ending, Children, Episode: Top Gear Middle East Special, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Mentions of Covid19, Other, POV Andy Wilman, POV Outsider, Pneumonia, mentions of the accident, pre-Top Gear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:01:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26974834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrunkGerbil/pseuds/DrunkGerbil
Summary: 5 times Andy has to rush to hospital because of one of his stupid friends and 1 time he has to be rushed to hospital and they can't be there.
Relationships: Andy Wilman & Richard Hammond, Jeremy Clarkson & Andy Wilman, Jeremy Clarkson & Richard Hammond & James May & Andy Wilman, Jeremy Clarkson/Richard Hammond, Richard Hammond & James May
Series: The Clarkson-Hammonds [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1957702
Comments: 1
Kudos: 5





	5 + 1 times Andy has to rush to hospital

~  
1  
~

The first call comes at seven in the morning, and Jeremy’s voice booms into the receiver so loudly that Andy nearly drops his mug. 

"It's happening! It's coming!"

Andy blinks at the patterned wallpaper in front of him, not getting it at all. He’s just crawled out of bed after staying in the office late last night. He hasn’t had a single sip of coffee yet. He thinks he should be forgiven for his next words.

"What's coming?" he asks, ratty. 

"THE BABY'S COMING," Jeremy yells down the line. 

Andy blinks some more, and asks, dumbly, "But isn't it too early?" vaguely aware that the due date should still be a good month away. 

"YES, IT'S TOO EARLY!" 

Oh. _Oh._ That would explain the edge of panic in his friend's voice. Shit.  
Before Andy can form a reply, there’s shuffling through the line, and Jeremy’s quiet cursing, and then Richelle’s voice in the background. 

“Jeremy, calm the fuck down!” and she sounds deeply annoyed but not nearly as panicky as her husband. Then, louder, directly into the phone, “Here, let me - no, go away, you pillock. Hello Andy.”

“Rich,” Andy replies, and feels a lot calmer already when he can detect humour in her voice. 

“We’re in the hospital, waiting for a room.” 

"What do the doctors say?"

"That we knew there was a good chance the little blighter might want out early, and that it’s my own fault for marrying a fucking tree."

Andy starts to laugh. It’s true. For the past few months Hammond has looked like she’s eaten a space hopper. There is no doubt in anybody’s mind that the baby will be their father’s child. The only question left unanswered is, due to Hammond’s insistence, if it’s going to be a girl- or a boychild. There are bets running. 

"Do you need me to do something?" he asks.

"No, I think Jeremy just wanted to yell at somebody, and I forbade him from doing so with my parents," Richelle answers jovially. 

“Alright, give me a call when the eagle has landed. And Rich?”

“Yes mate?”

“Don’t make me lose a hundred pounds to your little brothers.”

She laughs, hangs up, and Andy doesn’t hear anything for the entire day, or the next.  
The second call comes just before midnight on day two. Jeremy sounds jittery when the words rush out of him; not loud and excited, but tense. It has Andy’s nerves on edge immediately. 

“Something’s wrong,” he says, and, “They wheeled her off to surgery.”

"I'll be right there," Andy tells Jeremy, scribbles down the address, and jumps into the car. 

In the hospital, he gets directed by a helpful, if hassled looking night nurse. She rushes by with a mop and bucket, and Andy feels for her, wherever she’s going. After traveling through many halogen lighted corridors that all look the same except for the colored stripes on the wall, Andy stumbles upon the waiting area that holds Jeremy through sheer dumb luck. He lets himself drop into the empty seat next to Jeremy, plastic and back breakingly uncomfortable, and hands the coffee over that he got in the hospital’s reception area. Jeremy takes a gulp, his gaze never leaving the hallway they are facing, and mumbles, “Thanks.” 

“You’re welcome. Any news?” 

“No.” 

They sit in silence for a bit. Jeremy tenses every time somebody comes walking down that corridor, and Andy assumes that’s where they took Richelle. When the styrofoam cup is empty and Jeremy starts turning it in his hands, making it squeak in a way that has the other people shoot him glares, Andy takes it away from him and asks, "What is Hammond's family doing?" just to say something.  
Jeremy rubs his face, sighs through the fingers, before he lets them drop again. They rest on his knees for a mere three seconds before he starts tapping a nervous rhythm out. 

“I called them this morning when everything was still going okay, but I haven't given them any updates since. Couldn’t bring myself to."

Andy wonders if he should offer to call them, but it's the middle of the night and he doesn't want to worry them any more than necessary. Then Jeremy perks up suddenly, and Andy turns to see a doctor type walking towards them. They're both out of their seats immediately.

The doctor explains that there had been considerable bleeding, so they decided to do a c-section, and both mother and child are in good condition.  
Jeremy is impatient to see that for himself, so they are led towards a room.  
Inside, they find Richelle, awake if slightly dazed still, holding a bundle in her arms under the supervision of a midwife. 

She happily informs them that it's a boy, and Andy has to concentrate on keeping his face under control because he just lost a hundred quid to Richelle's little brothers.  
The wrinkled little worm asleep in his mother's arms weighs eleven pounds. 

“Je’my,” Rich slurs, high from the meds, but happy to see him. 

“Yes, dove?” Jeremy asks gently, perched on the edge of the bed, carefully cradling her and the boychild. 

“I birthed the biggest baby… in the world,” she says, and breaks out in mad giggles before wincing, and shifting carefully. 

“The biggest. No one’s ever had a baby as big as mine. And it’s your fault.” 

“Yes, dove,” Jeremy says fondly. 

Andy looks on, grinning like a loon, he's sure. He feels like he's allowed, as godfather. 

“Just so you know,” she continues, pronouncing the words very carefully and wagging a finger at Jeremy. 

“We will never do this again!”

~  
2  
~

They do it again. 

When baby number two decides to make their entrance into the world, four years later, Andy is the one to drive Richelle to the hospital. It's early again, but only by two days. Richelle is screaming at him, but not because of labour pains. That only just started, they’re not really in any kind of hurry yet. It will still be hours before the actual show starts. No, what Richelle Hammond is yelling about, is a snowstorm in Stockholm. 

“What do you mean, he’s stuck in Sweden! He can’t be stuck in Sweden!”

“There’s a snowstorm. No planes are flying,” Andy tries to explain again. 

“I don’t care! Jeremy has to be here!” 

Andy shrugs helplessly. Jeremy's trip had been very short notice, and he should have been home about two hours ago. If there hadn't been that snowstorm. Richelle had called Jeremy when she felt the first contractions, Jeremy had called Andy in a panic, and Andy had gone to pick up Rich. They'd left Finlo in the care of his wife, and then they had set off to the hospital.  
Breaking the news that Jeremy might not be back in time had not gone well. 

"I cannot believe that man!" Richelle grouses, and gives the two fingered salute when they are honked at due to Andy's erratic driving.

"Don't worry, he's doing his best to come home. I'm going to stay with you until he is."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

He keeps that promise, only stepping out to make phone calls to Jeremy. At the end of the ordeal, his hand feels like it will never recover from being crushed in Hammond's, and a healthy tiny girl is sleeping in his arms while her mother rests.  
He couldn't reach Jeremy the last time he called, and assumes he was finally on a plane, so he's spoken on the answerphone.  
His own wife and Finlo are excited for the news of a little sister, and she promises to bring the boychild by in the morning to meet her. 

When Jeremy finally comes in, still wearing a crumpled suit and looking severely jet lagged, it's so late at night it's practically early. Both Rich and Isabella are asleep, and Andy is watching over them. 

"Thank you, Andy," Jeremy says after gazing at his daughter. "Really, thank you."

~  
3  
~

Andy doesn't know if they've become complacent. 

It's not like they didn't have accidents before. Vans that topple over, fires, general clumsiness. There have been several injuries, but he's always felt that they had done everything in their power to prevent them and were well prepared and equipped to deal with them if they occurred anyway.

Could they have done more this time? Short of scrapping the idea when it first came up? Should he've simply said no?

For a while those thoughts of worry and self-flagellation get pushed aside by making phone calls to the hospital, the crew that were on location, the BBC, and Jeremy. Especially Jeremy, who he begs several times not to drive like a maniac, knowing full well that it's useless.  
All the while he has to concentrate on driving in a semi-sensible way himself. He has the urge to floor it, knows that Jeremy will, but he fights it. It will help nobody if he gets stopped by the police, or if he wraps his car around a tree. 

When he reaches Leeds General Hospital, the press is already camping outside the front doors, a mob that barely lets him pass. He knows he will look haunted in the pictures, but he doesn't say a word.  
Inside, the hospital staff obviously can't tell him much, but they are more than happy to show him the secluded back entrance. He calls Jeremy again and gives him directions. 

"I'm nearly there," he answers, and hangs up. Andy does the mental calculations to figure out how fast Jeremy must have gone to be nearly here already, and stops himself when that makes him feel sick. 

Jeremy is stony faced when he shows up, and Andy has no idea what to say, so he leads him through the dark bowels of the hospital until they reach the corridors that don't look like they're from a horror movie. A nurse brings them to the doctors, who tell Jeremy that they had to perform an emergency surgery, but that it went reasonably well. 

"Critical, but stable," they say. They explain the Glasgow coma scale, and what may or may not happen in the next twenty four hours.

"I don't care," Jeremy says. "As long as she's alive, I don't care." 

And, "Can I see her?" 

He can. They can. The doctors lead Jeremy to a room on the ICU, and Andy trails behind. Nobody stops him. 

In the room, Andy wants to cry. There are so many machines that supposedly tell you something, and they dwarf the figure on the bed. Jeremy walks over immediately, ignores the chair and settles on the bed with a care that belies his enormous size. He whispers endearments, and insults which are endearments in the world of Clarksons and Hammonds. He asks her to wake up. 

Andy feels useless, in this room. He has no power here. But what he can do is shield it from the outside. He resolves to have this situation managed, every aspect that he can, so that nothing and no one disturbs them. 

He squeezes Jeremy's shoulder, and touches Richelle's cheek, and tries not to cry when he leaves, phone in hand and making lists in his head of people he needs to call.

~  
4  
~

_Fucking head injuries and the morons that aquire them,_ Andy thinks, sitting in the passenger seat of a crew Discovery while they follow the ambulance.  
It'll be four years in September since the Big One, but that doesn't mean shit when another of his friends doesn't recognize him.  
Rich rides in the ambulance with James, because she was the only one he knew almost immediately after waking up. She was also a surprisingly calm voice in the panic. She knows, Andy supposes, how important that is in a situation like this. Who, if not her? 

After James’ tumble, and the subsequent, heart stopping question, “Where are we?” out of his mouth, they loaded him into one of their own cars and drove him to the nearest street. The ambulance was called en route, but everybody thought it a good idea to meet them as soon as possible, and preferably not in the middle of the desert. 

When they reach the hospital, they can’t follow the ambulance any longer, so they clog up the parking lot. The crew remains with the vehicles while Andy and Jeremy walk up to reception, who can tell them precisely nothing yet. They are told to sit and wait, so they do. For about two minutes. Then Andy gets up and paces. 

In his mind’s eye he can see the bright splash of blood on that rock. It had been a jarring sight, a stark red streak on the sun bleached ground. He can see it when he closes his eyes. 

“Wilman, sit down. You’re making me dizzy.”

Andy halts in his pacing, turns to Jeremy and gets ready to yell. He feels like yelling. This was the dumbest thing that ever happened; completely avoidable, completely stupid. Towing cars was what they _did_ , all the time, when they got stuck in the sand or the mud or the bloody snow. Why did nobody realize James was standing on the wrong side of the bloody tow rope?

He doesn’t yell. They’re in a hospital waiting room, and there are other people waiting on news or a doctor themselves. Jeremy’s face, not a beautiful sight at the best of times, is lined with worry. He is also a bit sunburned, like them all, and the crew’s medic has wrapped his scorpion bite at some point. This brought back bad memories for all of them. 

“This was fucking stupid,” Andy grumbles, and sits back down. 

“And we’ll take care of it,” Jeremy answers. The ‘like last time’ remains unsaid, but not unheard. 

“Of course we will. Always,” Andy says, stresses the last word. It’s what he does. What they all do, for each other. Taking care. 

The crew wanders in from time to time. Not all of them at once, of course, but every ten minutes somebody passes through the door to fill up a water bottle and give them meaningful looks. At some point Richelle waltzes in from the corridors beyond and collects Andy and Jeremy. Her smile is tense, but it’s a smile nonetheless. 

“They did a brain scan,” she explains on the way to the room. “But the way it looks it’s just a concussion. A bad one, mind you, but nothing permanent. James is of the opinion they just wanted to test their new MRI scanner.”

‘He’s awake, then?” Andy asks, trying to keep the anxiety down. 

“Yeah, and things came back to him on the ride already. Where we are, what year it is, you know? They want to keep him for observation until tomorrow, at the least.” 

It helps, hearing that, but Andy doesn’t breathe a sigh of relief until he walks into the hospital room and looks upon James, lying in bed, no machines in sight, and blinking at them sluggishly. 

“Bloody hell, May,” Jeremy booms. James winces at the volume, and calls Jeremy a cock. The world rights itself. 

Andy stays only for a bit, and assures James that he has all the time in the world to get back on his feet. Technically that’s not completely true, because filming schedules are a horrible thing, but Andy would rather swallow his own tongue than lay that on May right now. It’s his problem to worry about anyway, not James’. He’ll figure something out, as he always does. He’ll take the other two idiots and have them film nonsense in the desert, or some alternative way of staying incognito. Whatever it takes until the doctors give their all clear. 

Then he leaves Jeremy and Rich to hold their bedside vigil until the doctors kick them out, and goes to inform the crew. 

~  
5  
~

Before filming for the second series of The Grand Tour starts, everybody is vacationing. James and Woman are enjoying some quiet days in Scotland, and Andy has just returned from his family vacation in the south of France. The Clarkson-Hammond’s are still in Mallorca for a few more days, so Andy doesn’t expect to be called by Richelle. He _really_ doesn’t expect her to tell him that Jeremy is laid up in hospital. 

“How the bloody hell do you get pneumonia in Mallorca?” he asks, aghast, and is met with a frustrated sigh and Richelle’s answering, “I don’t know, but he’s here, coughing up a lung!” and then she adds, much more subdued, “The doctors are really worried.”

It’s Finlo who picks him up from the airport, and who informs him that his dad is currently coughing up buckets of slime, but the doctors decided he doesn’t have to be ventilated. 

On the way to the room they meet Izzy at the vending machine, and he gives her a quick hug. Both children, twenty and sixteen each, are quite subdued. The worry of the last few days is clearly written on their faces. 

“Wilman, what are you doing here?” Jeremy wheezes when they enter the room, and he truly sounds pathetic. 

“I’m trying to make sure you’re not delaying my programme out of laziness,” Andy answers, and Jeremy laughs, and wheezes, and coughs a lung out. Richelle is at his side immediately with a bucket and a glass of water. She’s always been a big old mum with everyone around her, be it kids, friends, or crew. Jeremy, firmly placed in the first category, accepts her mothering without complaint or teasing, mainly because he doesn’t have enough breath left to voice it, which in of itself is telling how ratty he must feel. 

Andy only stays for two days, and takes the kids out for ice cream and dinner and a shopping tour in that time. Cheers them up as best as he can. Thankfully they both have thick skin and their parents’ sense of humour, so they get amusement even out of a situation like this.  
When the doctors give, while not an all-clear, their approval for Jeremy to leave the hospital, Andy tells the whole family to go and relax a while longer. 

“We’ll delay filming,” he says. He’s already made the call. Well, calls plural. There was some shouting involved. 

Jeremy makes a face. He’s never liked not being able to work, has driven Richelle to the brink of madness occasionally, when he has foregone sleeping and eating appropriately whilst at the height of a project. That hasn’t changed, now that they’re old. Andy sees Rich gearing up for an argument, and decides to step in before their huffing puffing invalid tries to yell back. 

“You’re no use to anyone looking like death. Not even the make up girls could fix _that_. You’re out of breath walking from the door to the car, man,” Andy admonishes, not unkindly. “Take your bloody family and get well first.”

“Yes!” Richelle says, sternly, and when the children both use the puppy eye look they have inherited from their mother, Jeremy’s resolve crumbles. 

“Fine! But you go and explain to Amazon why our show is late, then,” he wheezes out, and Andy leaves them to it.

~  
+1  
~

It’s 2020, and Andy thinks he knows how Jeremy felt, back in Mallorca, as he struggles for breath. It’s a god awful feeling, that.  
A pandemic, who would have thought.  
He’s not the worst off in the ward, since he doesn’t have to be ventilated, but a silent ‘ _yet_ ’ is hanging in the air every time a nurse or doctor hurries by to check on him. 

He feels desperately alone. He wants his family, but not here. Wants to be home with them, and at the same time is endlessly thankful that he was in London when he fell ill, and couldn’t have given the plague to them. They talk several times a day, for as long as he can. 

Jeremy facetimes him at least once a day, too, usually with Richelle or Izzy hanging over his shoulder, or in a group call with Finlo, who’s stuck in his own apartment at uni. They order him to get better every time.  
James, too, calls, but more often than not he writes him text messages. Sometimes inconsequential things, sometimes show-related, always with worry.  
He’s gotten messages and well wishes from the entire crew, and feels his heart warm whenever another one pings on his phone. 

“We want to be there,” Jeremy says, very cross, one night. “You deserve us to be there.”

“What in the world have I done to deserve _that_?!” Andy asks, and has to grin at Jeremy’s put upon glare. 

“ _You_ were always there.”

“When the circumstances let me,” he cautions. He hopes from deep within his heart that Jeremy, who’s only ended his forty year smoking habit after his Mallorcian pneumonia stint, stays on his farm far away from civilisation. Not that there are visiting hours on the plague ward, anyway.  
He knows that they would be here, if they could. They wouldn’t leave his side, come hell or high water. But bad luck is bad luck.

Jeremy sulks, and Andy has to chuckle, which sounds like the dying rasp of a drowned engine. 

“I’m over the dam,” he says, after clearing his throat. Jeremy doesn’t look convinced, but like he wants to be. 

“It’s us four,” Jeremy answers, in the end. “Always. You understand that, Wilman?” 

“Yessir,” Andy croaks. They share a fond smile, full of fifty years worth of memories, and a few days later he is well enough to go home.


End file.
